


A Cause For Celebration

by lyannas (crossfirehurricane)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: And it's not a happy relationship, Family Dynamics, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Married Robert Baratheon/Lyanna Stark, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-25 14:45:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19747858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossfirehurricane/pseuds/lyannas
Summary: The lord and lady of Storm's End work hard to make their eldest son's nameday the best it can be-- or at least, one of them does, despite the fact that she has six children and seems to do everything all herself anyways.Or, Shireen has (six!) cousins, Jon has trouble dodging his father, and Lyanna is too old for Robert's shit.





	1. Shireen

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this many, many moons ago and figured I would just publish it. Please don't ask me for explanations or justification, I can't tell you what is happening politically here, because I have no idea.
> 
> Warning for mention of rape in chapter 3.

Shireen is not sure what kind of life she wants for herself, but she thinks it might look a little like it is right now.

Shireen woke up to Cassana shaking her shoulders, urging her to get out of bed. “It’s Jon’s nameday today,” her round-faced cousin whisper-hissed. “He’s going to be a man grown today. That’s what mother says. We have to make his day very, very special.”

Serena had trailed in behind her sister to insist the same. “Very special,” she repeated with a nod. Serena was the one who looked most like her mother between the two; her face was longer, with a willowy build and eyes that, while blue like the rest of her siblings, were harder and colder. She was the fifth of six children, and Shireen’s junior by two years; Casanna was the fourth, and of an age with Shireen.

“I made him a present,” Shireen insisted sleepily. It was a cloth badge she had sewn herself, of a black stag against a field of yellow, which she had made of cloth-of-gold. She could sew it onto any of his clothes, if he asked her to. “I’ll give it to him tonight, at the feast.”

Cassana made a pinched face. “I didn’t get him anything,” she said. “Mother and father got him something very nice, I’m sure.”

“I saw it,” Serena insisted. “It’s a--”

“No, don’t tell me!” Cassana scolded her sister. “I want to see it for myself.”

The three went up to break their fast with the rest of the family. At the head of the table was her Uncle Robert, who in his growing age was getting soft around the middle and rather round, but was smiling through his black beard. At his side was Aunt Lyanna, sharp-eyed and slim, her hand on cousin Jon’s shoulder, as she spoke warmly to her eldest son. Jon clearly knew he was the center of the day’s attention, his back straight as a spear with his chest puffed out ever so slightly. Out of all his siblings, even more than Serena, he resembled Lyanna the most. He had the same long face, same straight nose, same dark brown hair-- same stormy eyes, even, unmistakably grey where all his siblings had blue.

Shireen took her place at the table across from her cousin Orys, and next to her elder cousin, Steffon. Orys’s face lit up when he saw her, and he leaned across the table to speak to her. “I finished the book you lent me,” he whispered, blue eyes nervously darting to his father at the other end of the table. Orys was eleven, only a month older than herself, yet larger and taller than most boys his age, while also sharing none of their interests. He preferred curling up with a book against brandishing a sword; Shireen had even once seen turn a sickly shade of green when his father was proudly showing everyone how he could skin a rabbit in one cut. “I think Maester Lorn got some things wrong-- it makes no sense that Queen Nymeria had  _ ten thousand _ whole ships at the same time. Do you know how much lumber that takes? I know Rhoyne was huge, but surely not that huge. Not even House Greyjoy had managed such a--”

“Gods be good, can’t I sit down and break my fast without some boring history lesson?” Steffon barked beside her, shooting his younger brother an annoyed look. He was thirteen, similarly tall and large, but not half as charming. “If father hears you talking about this, he’ll burn all your books. I overheard him promise mother that he’ll do it himself, to make a man out of you.”

Chastened, Orys sank back into his seat, looking sullenly into his plate of grits. Shireen’s heart gave a twinge of pity. “I’m inclined to agree with you, Orys, there’s no way she truly had that many ships,” she said, ignoring the glare Steffon paid her. “At least not in  _ our _ time. But there is much about Rhoyne that we do not know-- who’s to say that it was not heavily wooded? What if there was magic in the ground that made trees grow twice as strong and ten times as fast?”

Orys gave an anxious smile and rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “There’s no such thing as magic, Shireen.”

“Don’t you believe dragons are magic?”

“No, dragons are a manner of beast, like any aurochs, or horse, or wolf--”

His words were cut short by the silent and sudden arrival of Shireen’s lord father, who sank into the chair beside him wordlessly, paying his daughter a simple nod in greeting. 

“Good morning, father,” Shireen said kindly.

“Good morning, uncle Stannis,” Orys chimed in.

“Mornin’, nuncle,” Steffon said between bites of bacon.

“Good morning,” her father replied curtly.

“Stannis! How kind of you to join us!” Uncle Robert’s booming voice echoed throughout the hall, silencing everyone who sat. Shireen could see her father’s lip give a twitch that indicated extreme annoyance. “As you surely know, my boy’s becoming a man today.” He moved behind his eldest and clapped him so hard on the back that Jon’s face nearly met his plate of food. “Sixteen-- do you remember being sixteen, Stannis? Being young, and free, with beautiful women around every corner, ripe for the--”

“Robert,” Aunt Lyanna hissed beside him, grey eyes shooting daggers.

“I met you when I was sixteen, wasn’t I?” Uncle Robert asked, beaming down at her as if she had encouraged him to continue, rather than to close his mouth. “Or was I seventeen? It was before that tourney… how old was I, Lya?”

Aunt Lyanna narrowed her eyes dangerously, a gesture Shireen had seen her practice on her unruly husband and disobedient children alike. When her gaze passed over Stannis, however, her eyes softened apologetically. “I think what Robert is trying to say is, this is a very special day for Jon, and we are ever so glad that you and Selyse are a part of his life. Isn’t that right, Jon?”

Jon nodded dutifully. “Yes, uncle. I’m very thankful.”

Shireen looked to her father, whose look of extreme annoyance passed into one of mild inconvenience. “That is kind of you to say, Jon. Unfortunately, Lady Selyse is ill, and may be unable to participate in the merrymaking. But you’ll find that Renly sends his regards from Highgarden; the letter came in this morning, along with a gift. Both are in your chambers.” Along with being her father and an uncle to six children, Stannis was the force that kept Storm’s End running like a hardy packhorse, making up for Robert’s shortcomings with his own very efficient way of managing a large castle and its many assets. It was a fact that Shireen took great pride in.

“Right,” Robert cut in awkwardly, looking a little disgruntled that the focus had shifted away from his glorious speech. “We’ve got hours before the feast, so why don’t you and I do a spot of hunting, Jon?”

“Can I come too, father?” Steffon asked, practically leaping out of his seat.

“Me too!” Cried little Brandon from Cassana’s lap. He was little more than a baby, but he could always be found scurrying after his siblings on his chubby legs.

Orys was markedly quiet, clearly more interested in the shapes the runny yolk of his egg was making on his plate.

“Aye, why not? Come on, then, let’s away!” As Uncle Robert ambled out of the dining hall, he picked up little Brandon along the way, who screamed with delight. Aunt Lyanna quickly caught up with him, giving her husband another sharp look before pulling Brandon out of his arms, who began to scream in anger instead. While Steffon clambered after his father eagerly, Orys remained stuck to his seat, and Jon was the last to rise.

“Sorry-- I wanted to spend time at home with you all today, but I suppose it can’t be helped,” Jon offered to his gathered siblings kindly, his words punctuated by a genuine frown. “I’ll see you all tonight, of course. I don’t want any of you falling asleep before then.” Before leaving the hall, he went around and kissed his mother and both his sisters on their cheeks, ruffled Brandon’s hair, and gave Orys an encouraging wink. Shireen sat back in her seat, watching her noble cousin with a hint of a blush on her cheeks. He was as gallant as the knights in the songs, though perhaps not as tall or as large or even as handsome, but he was certainly as kind and true. 

He did not forget Shireen. Before leaving them, he gave her a kiss too, his warm lips brushing her scaly cheek. “Remind me to return your book to you,” he quickly whispered in her ear. “I rather liked it, you know.”

Shireen’s blush deepened, but she knew the greyscale would do well to hide it.

* * *

Cassana admired herself before the mirror, twirling this way and that in her brand new dress. It was a gown of seafoam green, its top layer made of an iridescent gauze that shifted color in the light. Serena, on the other hand, was lying on her back on top of the bed, lazily kicking her legs over the edge, her light blue dress pulled up to her knees. She wore riding boots instead of dainty slippers, a choice Shireen would never be able to make without her mother commenting sourly. Aunt Lyanna didn’t seem to mind as much-- not even when Serena tore and dirtied her dresses.

Shireen shyly slipped behind Cassana to look at herself. She was plain and dumpy beside her fair cousin, and no color she ever wore would distract people from the scales on her face, or brightened the dull black of her hair.

“Cass, can we hurry?” Serena asked from her lazy perch. “Papa and the rest will have surely got back already. The feast is starting soon and I’m  _ hungry _ .”

Cassana huffed. “They’re not going to eat without us,” she insisted haughtily.

“It’s not  _ your _ nameday. Stop looking in that stupid mirror and let’s  _ go _ . I don’t want to miss Jon opening his presents.” 

“Stop whining,” Cassana returned with a pout, clearly exerting some effort in tearing her eyes from the mirror. “Tell her she’s being ridiculous, cousin.”

“I would like to go soon,” Shireen admittedly softly. “We should help the others prepare.”

“Mama and Uncle Stannis have it all under control,” Cassana insisted with a dismissive wave.

“Then Shireen and I will just go on ahead without you,” Serena insisted with a defiant tilt of her chin. “Come, cousin, let’s be off without her.” She hopped down from the bed to storm out of the door; Shireen paid Cassana an apologetic glance before following her younger, headstrong cousin.

“Wait!” Cassana howled behind them. “Just help me put my bracelet on, please!”

Shireen stopped, turned around, and returned to her cousin, who held out her dainty wrist with an unclasped bracelet of pearls. Shireen put the clasp through the hook, adjusted it, and earned herself a grin of thanks from Cassana.

“ _ Now _ , let’s go,” she said, looping her arm in Shireen’s.

They might not have been the most organized of families, Shireen realized, but they were her family, and because of that, she wouldn’t change a thing.


	2. Jon

“You only become a man once,” his father drawled meaninglessly, his nose already red from drink. “This is how you ought to spend your first night as one.”

Jon stared down the brothel before him in shame-faced anger. He should have known his father would concoct something like this, that he would present him with a gift that he would like for himself rather than one suited for his son.

“When I was sixteen, I already had a bastard of mine own-- a daughter. Her name… Aye, give me a minute, I’ll remember her name shortly.” His father grinned dimly, and tilted his head toward the red door. “Come on, then. Let’s make a man out of you.”

Jon stood where he was, feet planted on the ground. Most of the times, he was remarkably good at subverting his father in ways that still pleased him, but instead he was left feeling entirely at odds. If he refused, his father would bully him until he was red in the face, and still force Jon through that red door. If he agreed, he’d be spending a very awkward several minutes with a woman he didn’t know.

“Won’t we be late for the feast?” Jon asked his father hopefully.

“You can’t be late to your own feast. Come along.” His father was getting gruff now, already unhappy at this bit of stalling. He had his hand on the door, and looked far too eager to go in. 

“We shouldn’t keep the guests waiting,” Jon tried again. “Mother has worked hard to put this together, I’m sure.”

Robert scoffed. “Your mother can bloody well wait another hour, can’t she? Gods, boy, how much longer are you going to suckle at her teat? You’re a man grown now-- stop worrying over what your mother wants.” He walked over to his side and took hold of Jon’s arm roughly. “I wouldn’t take you to just any place, you know. I can promise you the girls here are clean-- and beautiful, gods bless them.”

Jon could feel his face burn. He did this often, Jon knew, visited whores and any other woman who would take him into their bed. Dishonoring his lady wife seemed to be a hobby of father’s, and while his mother never complained aloud, he had seen more than one sobbing kitchen maid leave Storm’s End after spending a few sharp minutes in the Lady Baratheon’s presence.

He needed an excuse now-- quickly, before he was dragged into this house or berated even further. Digging his heels in the ground, he tried to be bold. “I-- I already have a girl, father. A girl I love.” The words tumbled out in a single breath, but they were enough to stop his father in his tracks. “She has… made a man out of me a long time ago.”

Robert Baratheon appeared to be very amused at this. “You? And a girl?”

Jon nodded.

“What’s her name?”

“Um… You wouldn’t know her. She’s, uh-- a serving girl at the castle.”

“I know the serving girls at the castle. The pretty ones, anyways.” He gave a bark of laughter. “Tell me, what’s her name?”

“Her name is…” Gods be good. Suddenly he could not think of a girl’s name for the life of him-- at least not ones that didn’t belong to his sisters. He glanced quickly at the stables by the brothel, where a slouched black horse stood tethered. “Aly. Her name is Aly.” His mother had a black horse too, a gorgeous mare whom his mother named “Black Aly”.

“Aly? Not sure I know. I was never good with names, anyways. What does she look like? Maybe I’ve had her myself, once or twice.” 

His father’s proud grin turns Jon’s stomach. The very thought of sharing a girl with his father makes him want to vomit his breakfast at his feet.

“She has, um, dark hair. Long and curly. Her eyes are big… and brown.” Jon swallowed the anxious lump in his throat. This lie was becoming far too involved.

“Large breasts or small ones?”

“I don’t-- small.” Jon felt himself turn scarlet out of sheer embarrassment, but he hoped his father would mistake it for the authenticity of his ardor.

“Ach, no, the one I’m thinking of has large ones. They hung a little low, but she was a good girl. I don’t see her much anymore.” 

_ Mother probably got rid of her, and with every right to do so _ . Jon had decided from a young age that he wanted nothing to do with women that were not his wife. He had seen his mother have to smother embarrassment and poorly conceal misery far too often to imagine putting his future wife through the same torment. His father was too blind to what he considered to be the “soft hearts of women” to take notice that perhaps his lady wife suffered more than she let on.

“Can we go back to the castle now?” Jon asked, attempting a genial smile. It was getting dark out, and he had far too many guests to disappoint by turning up late.

“Fine, then,” Robert grumbled. “Go ahead. Go back.”

“Aren’t you coming, father?”

Robert grumbled some more.

“It’s my nameday, father. I want you there.”

“Fine!” He boomed, arms thrown up in defeat. “Let’s get on with it, then.” He climbed into the saddle of his horse with only a little difficulty. His men around him, who appeared to be surprised by the movement  _ away _ from the whorehouse, quickly mounted their steeds too.

Concealing a smile, Jon climbed into his saddle and cracked the reins, driving his horse forward. The ride back was quick and silent; all the better, Jon thinks, for the boom of cheers and the friendly faces that greeted him in the great hall were easily the greatest thing to happen to him all day.


	3. Lyanna

Satisfied with the sight of servants quickly cleaning up the hall after its night of festivities, Lyanna swept off to bed. It took hard work and endless stress to put together Jon’s nameday party, putting a sizable dent in the coffers and threatened her own sanity, but it had been worth it. Jon was so pleased, the rest of her children had thoroughly enjoyed themselves, and she thought she might have even seen sullen Stannis crack a smile. Nothing made her more glad than the sight of her family so mirthful and overjoyed. It made every last drop of effort worth the strife.

In the privacy of her bedchambers, she stripped down to her smallclothes and pulled her nightgown over her head. As for her hair, she plaited it down the side and tied the end with the first ribbon in sight. She was more than prepared to simply fall into bed and sleep as soon as her head hit the pillow. She was tired, had drunk a cup or two of wine at the feast, and the weariness of her mind alone was enough to send her into a long, long slumber before she would inevitably be woken up by one of her many children.

As soon as she slipped beneath the coverlet, the door to her chambers opened. Expecting it to be one of her children, most likely Cassana, who liked to talk to her when Serena would not lend her ear, Lyanna smiled at the opening door. The person who  _ did _ walk through it promptly made her face fall.

“Robert,” she said in a strangled sigh. Her husband looked rumpled and completely drunk, a sight she had seen many, many times looming in her doorway. “What do you want?”

“You,” he said plainly, nearly slurring on that single word.

Lyanna clenched her fists in the sheet. She was getting too old and too tired to stave him off every time he was like this. She could not even remember the last time they laid together while he was sober. He was a force to be reckoned with when drunk; protests fell deaf on his ears, fists did not deter him, sobs did not soften him. The only boon was that he finished quickly.

Still, she would try to fight him. She always tried.

“I’m tired, Robert, and I’ve a headache,” Lyanna insisted firmly as he staggered toward her. “If you love me, you’ll let me be.”

“Love you? I do love you,” he slurred, dropping on the bed beside her; the bed groaned beneath his weight. “Lya, Lya, lovely Lya… How I love you…” He reached for her wrist and she withdrew quickly. He tried to raise himself up on his arm, but this proved to be too great a task, and he sunk back upon the bed. Lyanna’s spirits rose slightly at the sight.

“Why don’t you sleep?” Lyanna suggested.

He groaned loudly, as if the very thought was abhorrent. “So bloody frigid,” he complained. “You and your bloody son.”

Lyanna’s heart skipped at those words as they always did. “My son?” It was true, Jon was her son, not his, but he did not know… Though sometimes she wondered if he did.

“Jon,” he grunted, squeezing Lyanna’s heart a little more. “Jus’ like the man he was named after. I took him to a bleedin’ brothel, y’know what he told me?”

“You took him to a  _ brothel _ ?” Lyanna repeated, rage replacing her fear.

“He said, he has a girl in the castle. Some servin’ girl. Says she’s pretty-- bah,” he scoffed, as if disbelieving.

Lyanna smiled privately. She knew her son well enough to know that had been a lie. She had an eye for errant serving girls who fucked Baratheon lords. She had gotten rather good at tossing them out with a cup of moon tea.

“He is a man. He should do what pleases him,” Lyanna said plainly. 

“The whores coulda done that,” Robert returned with a hiccup. He opened his heavy-lidded eyes to look at her. “He’ll go to them soon. When he’s married.”

Lyanna was far too jaded to take offense. As far as she was concerned, the whores could have her husband, every last inch of him. This feeling only intensified after the birth of Brandon, her  _ sixth _ child. She had no fondness for the arduous task of pregnancy, and much less so for the task of conception. Robert had fallen asleep on top of her when they made Brandon, stinking of wine.

“It must be hard for you, married to a woman like me,” Lyanna japed mirthlessly. “A woman who warms your bed and gives you so many beautiful children.” Robert appeared not to hear, as his eyes drooped shut again and the first of his rowdy snores echoed throughout her chamber.

Lyanna wondered if he ever loved her. Oh, he  _ said _ he loved her, but did he ever truly  _ love _ her? His kisses never tasted of sweetness and fondness. When he fucked her, it did not feel like making love. Had it been her fault? She never gave him a chance, not really. She had always assumed the worst from the start-- and yet, he delivered his worst as well.

It did not matter anymore. Lyanna had long since stopped dreaming of a different man whom she could call husband. She did dream, though, once. She had dreamed of a man who kissed her like she were the last woman on earth. A man who touched her as if she were holy, a touch that was equal parts wanting and worship. A man who filled her so sweetly, pleased her and talked to her, who asked what she wanted, who made promises he would keep.

There was no such man. It was naive to believe otherwise, and pointless to dream of him. The best she could do now was raise worthy sons, who would become good husbands to fine women one day. Lyanna laid back down, inching away from her husband until her body was curled precariously at the edge of her bed.

_ Jon was happy today, _ she reminded herself, thinking of her son’s wide smile.  _ Everyone was happy. Even me. _

It is that glad thought she clung to as she fitfully drifted off to sleep. 


End file.
